


Five Times Gibbs Dreamt About Fucking DiNozzo (and One Time He Didn't)

by Lukoni



Category: NCIS
Genre: Crack, Dream Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Feel-good, Humor, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukoni/pseuds/Lukoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Special Agent Gibbs has been plagued by some rather explicit dreams about his senior field agent. He does his best to ignore them, but some things just can't be ignored...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Gibbs Dreamt About Fucking DiNozzo (and One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on my LJ&FF on 2/6/2011. Written in a fit of crackyness - many absurdities ahead!

(I)  
The first time Gibbs dreamt about fucking Dinozzo was after a 72-hour jag without sleep. They were shorthanded since he’d just cut Vivian from the team, and he and Tony had been to six states in three days trying to track down a man who’d apparently sold state secrets to a terrorist cell. Exhausted but wired, it took a few hours of work on the boat before he’d finally managed to fall asleep under the frame, only to wake with a start, striking his head on the keel, visions of his cock pushing into Dinozzo. The young agent was naked, bent over his desk at the office, his head craned a bit to the right to look at the monitor, his keyboard turned around so he could type in search parameters. Gibbs groaned as Tony’s voice echoed in his head, “So you see, boss, Ahmed Zamir is a common name in that province, so we have to cross reference it with library cards and Girl Scout cookie purchases…” He took a swig of bourbon from the nearly empty mason jar by his feet, then lay back down, stubbornly refusing to touch the hard-on throbbing between his legs. He did his best to block out the memory of thrusting into that tight ass while ordering his second to track down all shipments of Thin Mints to Pakistan.

  


(II)  
The second time Gibbs dreamt about fucking Dinozzo, he could squarely blame it on Ducky who had slipped him some rather strong painkillers the night he had gotten into that knock-down-drag-out fight with Gunnery Sergeant Leeka. The medical examiner had driven him home, since he couldn’t quite see straight once the swelling had set in, and claimed to be giving him some aspirin, which clearly wasn’t anything of the kind, and he’d fallen asleep with a goofy smile, even more crooked than usual from the split lip. Somehow his mind conjured up Dinozzo on his knees sucking his cock, in the middle of Abby’s lab, where Abby was showing him pictures of puppies on the Plasma screen. “This one is Chester – a labradoodle, belonging to the first suspect...” 

“Boss,” Tony interrupted, pulling away from his saliva-coated feast. Gibbs just glared and shoved Tony’s head back onto his aching shaft. Abby put up a picture of a golden retriever. “Suspect number 2 – Madison – has a golden retriever, Blueprint, 6 months old, had all his shots, knows how to sit, heal and stay. Still working on _come_ and _roll over_.”

“Boss,” Tony tried again. Gibbs grabbed his head with both hands and thrust in hard. Tony moaned and sucked harder.

“Timmy,” Abby said, changing photos, “is a 2 year old Samoyed belonging to our third suspect…”

Before Gibbs could cum, Tony pulled away for a third time. “Dammit, Boss. It was the schnauzer! He planned the whole thing, I’m telling you…” Gibbs smacked Dinozzo on the back of the head and closed his eyes in bliss as Tony made a mumbled protest around his throbbing flesh. 

He came with whitened vision and Abby’s voice saying “Actually, Gibbs, he might be right…” He felt the stickiness in his shorts and groaned. Carefully turning his stiff neck, he glanced at the clock. He had two hours to think of an errand that would keep Dinozzo out of the office the whole day. There was no way he could handle those smirking lips until he had come up with some way to scrub those images from his mind. He glared down at his groin, which had twitched at the replay of that last glimpse of Tony, on his knees, smug grin on his face, wiping a drop of cum from the corner of his mouth. Maybe two days, Gibbs thought grimly.

  


(III)  
The third time Gibbs dreamt of fucking Dinozzo was in Mexico. He awoke in confusion, gasping and hard, still feeling the touch of Tony’s hands on his arms, holding him down on a stretcher in the back of an old Boeing Stratofreighter. He’d been shot, several times, but it didn’t hurt, mostly just annoyed him because it meant that he had to be taken off the mission. He was struggling to get up but Dinozzo was kissing him, long, slow, loving kisses, sliding languidly in and out of his boss’s ass. Any time he tried to protest that he had work to do, Tony would whisper, “It’s okay, boss, I’m on it,” in his ear then chew sensuously on his earlobe. 

Not wanting to wake Mike, he stumbled, shaking, out to the beach. A three-quarter moon lit the water and he sat down where the surf could just brush his toes. He searched his fragmented memories, hoping, praying that he hadn’t had something going with Dinozzo back in D.C. Because he knew he was a bastard, but if he’d walked out on something like that, he’d never forgive himself. It had felt so real, so … good. And a welcome relief after struggling with the loss of Shannon and Kelly all over again for the last two months. He’d refused to let himself dream about them, but that didn’t keep them from trampling through his waking thoughts at all hours of the day. In the dream he’d felt protected, loved even, and not by someone he could never see again. Someone alive and vibrant and… his cock throbbed and he shucked off his boxers, bringing himself off to the sound of the rolling waves and Tony’s voice whispering, “It’s okay, boss…”

  


(IV)  
The fourth time Gibbs dreamt of fucking Dinozzo was shortly after they had captured the crazy freak who had been killing people based on McGee’s book. He really could not come up with an excuse this time, for why he’d dreamed of his team, all wearing nightgowns and mob caps like Abby’s, while bowling at a lane in the middle of a football stadium. It was night and there were lights and a crowd and cheerleaders. He was not bowling – he was on a parade float, in a chair covered in glitter, wearing nothing but a fur-trimmed purple cape and a gold crown. Ziva bowled violently, her pins flying in all directions at every strike. McGee was more deliberate, less forceful but calculated. Unfortunately he also kept tripping over the ruffled hem of the nightgown. Abby was comfortable with her stance, strong in her follow-through but her cap kept slipping over her right eye, making her miss the pins entirely several times. Dinozzo flirted with the cheerleaders while his team members took their turns, taunted Ziva every time she was about to release the ball and grinned like a maniac every time the crowd cheered his successes. He had slit his gown outrageously up to thigh level in the front and back so he could stretch his legs to their full extent when he sent the ball sliding down the slick wood. There was a protest from Director Shepard but, after review, the ref allowed it. 

It was close, but Tony eked ahead of Ziva in the last frame to win the game. The crowd went wild, and Tony did a victory dance down the lane to claim his prize. Which turned out to be Gibbs. Tony climbed on the float, unfastened the robe from around Gibbs’s neck and pulled it open to drape off the arms of the throne. Dinozzo smiled hungrily at him, stroked his hands down his chest, which, Gibbs noticed, was being broadcast on the jumbotron to the whole stadium. His senior agent proceeded to dip his fingers into the supply of lube in a crystal bowl next to the throne and grasped Gibbs’s cock, pumping it to throbbing hardness. With practiced ease, Gibbs let his legs fall open wider so the cameraman could get a better view. Tony growled enticingly and pulled off his cap, which he tossed into the stands. The fan who caught it fainted. Tony proceeded to tear off his gown, ripping it up the front from the slit he’d already made. The crowd went wild and he took his time as he wadded it up and sent it flying to another adoring fan. He turned a full turn for the camera man before climbing up on Gibbs’s lap and impaling himself on Gibbs’s rod, moaning as he slid down to the hilt. Gibbs watched himself on the screen, his cock sinking into the most coveted ass in America and sighed in contentment.

A hand stroked his groin and he woke panting, momentarily disoriented. There was a body plastered against him, but this one was smooth and curvaceous. A slightly smoky but amused voice emerged from the darkness. “Again, Jethro? What was in that curry?” Gibbs rolled onto his side, pulling Hollis snug against his chest, glad she couldn’t see his face right now. Stroking his hand down her back, he breathed in her scent trying to banish the erotic image of Tony from his sparking retinas. Tony who was distant, nowadays. Tony who was hiding something from him. Tony who was in love. 

“I have no idea,” Jethro answered. “But promise me we don’t have to go bowling ever again.”

  


(V)  
The fifth time Gibbs dreamt of fucking Dinozzo, he was in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his childhood dreams, and haunted by his adult losses. He was almost getting used it now, and it seemed appropriate that in this bed which had seem him jack off so many times as an angry teenager should see him do so now as an angry adult, trying to solve a case while his father was busy pressing every button he had. With a smirk, Gibbs pressed his thumb into his slit, thinking he might as well press a few buttons of his own. It was still dark, the faintest glimmer of predawn peeking over the horizon outside past his faded curtains. He closed his eyes and relived the dream, not hiding from it this time, not feeling lost or confused or terrified. 

They were in space, somehow, tracking a murderer who was trying to escape to Jupiter. Tony was bouncing around all over the place, laughing like a child at the feeling of being weightless. Gibbs was staring grimly through the window, watching the killer’s shuttle grow more distant with every passing second. Tony grabbed him from behind and pulled him away, pushing them toward the ceiling. He’d shouted at the unrepentant agent to let him go, but Tony only laughed and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. And somehow he ended up naked and bound spread-eagle to the ceiling and floor, tethered and defenseless, and Tony floated around him laughing and touching and kissing and sucking and Gibbs had never felt this good in his life. Finally, Tony entered him from behind, wrapping his legs around Gibbs’s thighs for leverage. He felt free for the first time in long time, reveling in the feel of hands ghosting over his nipples, lips against the back of his neck, balls slapping against his ass. He moaned and closed his eyes, floating in sensation, until a voice came over the intercom, irritating and prodding. His father’s. “Leroy, he’s getting away. Hadn’t you better do something about that?” 

Gibbs had come awake with a start, almost ashamed, but quickly gaining his bearings, realizing his father had not just walked in on him. He laughed ruefully at the thought of his still being here in this room, all these years later, naked and horny and hiding from his dad. He was tougher these days, though, harder to embarrass, and after so many of these dreams now, he was almost used to Tony as his phantom bedmate. Slowly and silently he jerked himself to completion, with Tony’s irrepressible laughter dancing in his ears.

  


(VI)  
The first time Gibbs didn’t dream of fucking Dinozzo was over steak and too many beers after Dinozzo’s father had been through town, leaving Tony unsettled and Gibbs sympathetic. He’d been through that himself not too long ago – someone who knew you before all your masks were built mixing with those who only knew your masks was never a comfortable thing. Tony had handled it as well as could be expected. Distracted, moody, jumpy. Classic Parental Visit Syndrome. Gibbs had bought an extra six-pack, knowing Tony would need it and they didn’t have to work in the morning. It was late when he left Tony snoring on the couch and he made his way, only slightly unsteadily, up to his room. 

It was still night when he heard his door creep open. He tensed for a moment until he recognized the shuffling step of drunk Tony. “Your couch is lumpy,” the afflicted agent mumbled before flopping unceremoniously on the other side of the bed. Before he could protest, snores erupted in the darkness, and Gibbs was tired enough to let him be. He rolled over, back to his uninvited guest, and wondered fatalistically what this would do to his dreams.

He was on a raft – an inflatable liferaft – in open sea. Waves tossed him about, but not badly, he was safe. There were foxes on top of the water, watching him, waiting for him to get out and swim so they could climb on his back and hitch a ride back to the mainland. He had no interest in helping them out and stayed steadfastly in his raft, until they crept closer and bit holes in it. He tried to patch them but there were too many and soon he was in the water and they were on him, clinging with their little claws, chatting about how smooth his stroke was. It was annoying but not life threatening, but after a while they grew heavier, and hotter, their fur covering his back, their breath on his neck, and suddenly he felt like he was suffocating. He woke suddenly, flailing against the weight on him, pushing him down under the water.

But waking didn’t help and the weight was still there, only it clung tighter as he moved. “Hey, boss,” a voice murmured. “Didn’t know you slept in the nude.” Dinozzo was spooned up behind him, arm around his waist, lips brushing his neck as he spoke.

“Only when I’m not on call,” Gibbs snapped, trying to free himself from his octopus of a senior agent. He might have tried harder, if he hadn’t dreamt five times of this body so close to his, if he hadn’t grown to like it, if he hadn’t realized, finally, after Hollis, that he could never love another woman like he loved Shannon. But Tony wasn’t a woman and didn’t have a woman’s needs and … was grinding his cock against Gibbs’s ass. But this was real this time and not fantasy and there was Rule 12 to think of. “Dinozzo!” he shouted, unsure if his bedmate was even sober enough to know who he was groping.

“Yes, boss,” the man purred back at him, sliding his hand down to fondle Gibbs’s half-hard penis. Gibbs grabbed Tony’s wrist before he could start stroking but didn’t pull it away. He intended to deliver a scathing rejection or a stern scolding or maybe just a gentle rebuke, but his mouth betrayed him and he said “Why are you doing this?”

Tony tightened his fingers around his cock and sighed into the skin of his throat. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long. Kinda wanted the real thing for a change.” Gibbs swallowed hard, surprised to find his own thoughts echoed in his agent’s words. Excuses raced through his head, trying to stop the inevitable, but Gibbs knew it was a lost cause and gave up his hold on Tony’s arm. 

“Thank God,” came Tony’s not-so-silent prayer. But before he could get going in earnest, Gibbs rolled over, grabbing Tony’s cock and latching on to those incredible lips that had taunted him for so long. They brought each other to satisfaction with only a few minor setbacks and lay quietly, side by side, as the ceiling became visible in the dawn light. Wondering how awkward this was going to be, Gibbs searched his mind for something appropriate to say, but, as usual, Tony spoke first.

“We’d better get to do that again, because I wasn’t at my best and I don’t want you thinking I always jab my bedmate in the gut with my elbow that many times.”

Gibbs was surprised to feel his lips curve into a half smile. He should have known that Dinozzo wouldn’t be at all cowed by having just shared a hand job with his boss.

“So, you’ve been dreaming about this, have you?”

“You have no idea, boss.” 

Gibbs smirked, thinking maybe he did. “What kind of dreams?” he asked casually. Tony rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down at him with contagious humor.

“Well, the first time there was this elephant and you were a maharaja and – have you ever considered a turban, boss? – anyway, then this evil magician….” 

Gibbs laughed and listened and tried not to beam like an idiot as he felt his heart lighten in a way he hadn’t felt in nearly two decades.


End file.
